


Champagne

by violenteer



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Lingerie, M/M, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 03:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14416692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violenteer/pseuds/violenteer
Summary: When he touches me, it’s like all the bubbles rising to the surface of a glass of champagne.





	Champagne

When he touches me, it’s like all the bubbles rising to the surface of a glass of champagne. He’s full of smiles, dressed down in black lingerie that cuts him into something dangerously desirable. I grab his ass and he giggles, giddy. Nervous maybe. We’ve only done this in our heads. Only talked about it for fun. But he likes to take initiative, and I fucking love to follow him. 

“It’s just something I threw on,” he tells me, shrugging his bare shoulders. 

They’re dusted in freckles and I fantasize about biting into them when he’s across the room from me on days tamer than this one.

“It suits you. You’re… I want to fuck you into the next century.” I confess. 

I smile. He likes when I smile. There’s a bite to it that’s not friendly, but he always thinks I look inviting. Isn’t that beautiful? We complete each other in this way. Our atrocities look like magnetization, our reproachfulness a watchful eye. 

“You want to screw me for decades?” He asks, popping the waistline of his panties. “In this?” 

“I want you to ride me into a new era of civilization.” 

I think he’s going to giggle, but instead he moans and wraps one leg around my waist to corral me into the nearest corner. I’m crowded by him. He kisses me and I light up red and pink, inelegant starburst patterns coloring me in his shades. Exclusively his shades. 

I never met a man I love so much. With him, it’s easy. It’s easy to fall in love and keep my back to the open spaces. I’m not anxious anymore. I’m not as anxious as i used to be. 

His lips find mine. We kiss like there’s a fire burning within our bodies, and only our teeth can staunch the billowing smoke. He grinds himself down on the leg I put beneath his crotch. I punch a moan from him when I smack his ass. When I clutch at his curves. The bra he’s wearing catches on one of the buttons of my flannel. 

We huff our way into the bedroom, both too wound up for words. 

“Get the lube, gorgeous.” I tell him. 

He likes it when I make it sound like an order. 

“Don’t make me ask twice.” 

So I make it sound like an order. 

There are angels that look to him for guidance in grace. I count myself among them, a demon in disguise with enough intellect to drag heaven’s best into the rotting stench of hollow, bitter earth. 

He likes me, too. I don’t know why. 

His legs are spread wide. I dip between them and swallow his cock, gagging myself on it to give him what he wants. But it’s still through the panties. He likes the panties. He likes being pretty. I like it when he lets me look at him. 

My eyes are glued to his heaving chest. He feels like he’s hyperventilating, but it’s excitement. It’s excitement, unbridled.

Hands are in my hair. I bite my way down his thighs, smoothing my artist’s hands across his skin. He shivers. He’s not easy, but he builds himself up with the lace, and I knock him down with my mouth. It’s a nice symmetry. 

“Open yourself up for me, angel.” I tell him. 

He nods, brow furrowed, two fingers circling his asshole. 

I can only see the sharp indents of his knuckles. Those goddamn underwear get in the way of my view. 

He moans a little, but not a lot. I stroke his dick while he’s trying to focus, and when he bucks I use my left hand to hold him down. There are very few people who have seen him when he’s so disheveled. There will only ever be one man to see him this disheveled as long as I am alive. 

Unless he wants an audience. 

I’m not completely inflexible. 

I’m aching under my layers, but I don’t touch myself. It’s better to focus on him. My pleasure plays second fiddle to the main stage’s show. 

“Come here, please. Come here. Take those off.” 

The pants go. The briefs go. My dick is hard, and it curves against my stomach. Twitches when Enjolras stretches and slips his panties to one side. Just enough for me to see how thoroughly he’s worked himself open. 

I love his ass. I love his ass so much that I dream about it, and I wake up pinning him down just to squeeze it between my desperate fingers. Sometimes he likes that, and sometimes he doesn’t. But he loves me enough to understand that I need it. 

We start slow. I rock my way inside him like I’m in the middle of an earthquake holding fine china. He is fine china. Finer than the little thing humanity has going with breathable air and drinkable water. 

He’s fine. I love him. 

He’s mine. I love him. 

Enjolras guides himself down onto my dick when he understands the rhythm. I pinch his nipple through his bra and call him a pretty whore, because he is. He’s the prettiest little whore I’ve ever met. 

I slam into him harder after that. After his mouth is open and he’s panting. We don’t always come together, but we don’t need to. He comes first. That’s where I draw my line. First the angel, and then his lowly disciple. If it’s that kind of night. 

When his mouth is open on a moan, I bite into his lower lip and laugh breathlessly. My pace slows and then picks right back up. It’s wet between us, now. It’s wet because he’s sweating and his come is drawing Jackson Polluck signatures across our skin. There’s art in everything we do, but there’s specific art in his patience, pleasure, and proof. 

Proof that he won’t leave. Proof that he sees what I see. 

I fuck into him faster and harder than I have in a little while. 

“You’re the prettiest angel i’ve ever met, Enjolras. You know you are. There’s only ever been you. I was so — so lost without you. My guiding light. You’re so fucking tight. You’re all mine. aren’t you? I’m all yours. Tell me you’re mine. Mine. Mine. Mine,” my voice breaks on the last repetition.

But he’s right there to pick it back up.

“Yours.” 

I slump forward, spending myself inside him. I’m not wearing a condom. We’re both clean. He belongs to me. I like to make that clear with evidence. Claim. 

We fuck again after that. And after that. 

And then we sleep tangled in each other’s arms. 

He doesn’t take the bra off. I don’t mind.


End file.
